


A Home for the Holidays

by theclassiestpunk



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humanstuck, karkat is a drifter, kinda sadstuck if you look at it in the right light?, nepeta is a waitress, they meet at a diner in the middle of nowhere at one in the morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclassiestpunk/pseuds/theclassiestpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Nepeta Leijon. You work the graveyard shift in a greasy spoon diner in the middle of nowhere. One night in mid-december, a drifter by the name of Karkat Vantas comes in and orders a black coffee and a grilled cheese. Actually, on further review of his financial situation, just the coffee.</p><p>Inspired by http://jackfrost.co.vu/post/67734298819/forget-coffee-shop-aus-there-need-to-be-more</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s around one in the morning when he stumbles through the door carrying a duffle bag that’s seen better days. You work in an old greasy spoon diner in the middle of corn country, Illinois, completely devoid of customers, as it is most nights. You perk up, straighten your back, try to pretend like you were cleaning instead of just leaning against the counter half asleep. He looks like death warmed over, like someone who hasn’t had proper sleep or a proper shower in days, if not weeks. His clothes are pieced together rags; a coat that looks like it had been fished from a thrift shop’s trash, fingerless gloves that you would bet any money didn’t start that way, and shoes that are rotting off his feet. You’re instantly taken with him.  


He plops himself down at a booth despite the bar being completely empty and just stares at the menu, not saying a word. You put on your brightest smile and walk over to his table, saying in your brightest voice, ‘Hi mister! What can I do fur you today?’ He looks up at you, squinting at your nametag, and you get a better look at his face. He looks to be in his early twenties, which puts him pretty close to your age. You notice his face has streaks of dirt across it, and you decide he definitely hasn’t showered in a while. The poor thing, he must have been out on the road for days! He’s probably searching for a place to stay, a nice small town, perhaps, maybe even with a nice girl who can take care of him and bakes the best damn pie in town if you do say so yourself. ‘Cut the fucking cheerfulness... Nepeta. Just get me a black coffee and a grilled cheese. Actually...’ he starts, fishing around in his pockets and coming up with one dollar bill and a few quarters, ‘forget the grilled cheese. Just the coffee.’  


You smile even wider and tell him you’ll be back in a moment. Everyone knows that people who tell you not to be cheerful really just need someone to cheer them up! You go behind the counter and busy yourself with brewing a fresh pot of coffee. Suddenly you get a little idea. At the end of your shift, you’re allowed to take home a free piece of pie. You usually accept this gift with gusto, (after all, you bake some of them!) but he really looks like he could use something to eat. His cheeks have the hollow look of a man who never knows when his next meal will be, and the fingers poking from his gloves are little more than bones. Anyway, your mother always told you the best way to get a guy’s attention is through his stomach. Your mind made up, you pour him his coffee and grab a slice of the blueberry pie you made this morning, your personal specialty.  


As you set the pie and coffee down in front of him, he looks up at you in confusion. ‘I didn’t order any fucking...’ he begins, before you cut him off. ‘It’s on the house,’ you say, still smiling brighter than the sun. ‘You look like you could use something to eat.’ As an afterthought, you go back and grab the whipped cream and put a healthy mound on top of the pie. If that doesn’t get his attention, nothing will.  


He stares at the pie like a man who’s just seen the second coming of Jesus. He mumbles something that you take to be thank you before grabbing his fork and attacking the pie like it had killed his mother. After the first bite, his eyes light up, and after that he doesn’t pause until the entire piece is gone and there’s not even a crumb on the plate. The only thing to signify that there was a full piece of blueberry pie there mere moments ago is a small smear of whipped cream on the plate, which he quickly wipes up with his finger, licking it off. You beam and sit down across from him.  


‘So, mister, what’s your name?’ you ask as he picks up the sugar and begins to pour a copious amount into his coffee. Black as the devil and sweet as a stolen kiss, you think with a smile.  


He stares at you for a moment with wide eyes before answering, as if he’d forgotten you were there. ‘Karkat,’ he replies after a moment’s hesitation, ‘Karkat Vantas. Thanks again. For the pie, I mean,’  


‘No problem,’ you laugh, thinking of how adorably flustered he seems. You get the feeling people aren’t nice to him much. ‘It’s always good to see my baking appreciated. Nepeta Leijon,’ you say, reaching out your hand to shake.  


‘You baked that?’ he replies, his eyes widening, ‘Don’t these places usually have cooks or something?’  


‘Of course! But that’s fur hot food. Fur the pies, me and one of the other waitresses just bake them before our shifts! Al’s a great cook, but he can’t bake at all,’ you answer with a wink. ‘So, what brings you to our little corner of nowhere?’  


‘Well, that’s invasive as fuck, but I guess I owe you for the pie, so I’ll let it slide.’ He looks a bit nervous, and you begin to think you may have overstepped your boundaries a bit, but just as you’re about to say something, he continues. ‘I dunno. I just sorta fucking... drifted in,’ he says, with a vague wave of his hand. ‘That’s kinda what I am. A drifter. I know, you never expected a drifter to dress in the fucking finery I sport, but you’d be amazed at the fucking treasures people throw out. Some shitheads have no god damn clue how valuable things like this coat can be. So what if it’s got a few holes? It still keeps you plenty fucking warm. And lord knows I need it when I get stuck in fucking Illinois in the middle of winter. At least I had the good sense to not stray any further north. I’ve known too many guys that tried to sleep outside in the winter up north and never saw the sunrise.’  


At this he goes silent, and starts staring into his coffee again. You’re dumbfounded. Half of you wishes you’d never asked. Sure, you figured he was a drifter, but you always thought of the drifter’s life as somewhat glamorous. Going where you please, free as a bird, nobody to tell you what to do. You never thought about the fact that some people actually died because they couldn’t find a warm place to sleep. It suddenly occurs to you that nobody has coffee at one in the morning. It also occurs to you that the diner is the only open place with central heating for miles.  


‘So... what’s in the bag?’ you ask, desperately floundering for something to say and latching on to the small, worn duffel bag.  
He glares at you. ‘Pirate gold. What the fuck do you think?’  


You realize that drifters don’t have a house to store what few belongings they have and regret asking. You blush furiously, trying to apologize, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I don’t mean to be rude! If you don’t want to talk, it’s purrfectly okay, I should really wash some dishes anyway.’ You start to rise, before he stops you.  


‘Wait, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.’ he pauses for a moment, then gets a strange look on his face. ‘Wait... did you say purrfectly? As in, like how a cat purrs?’  


Your face turns even redder, if that was even possible. ‘Uhhh...’ you stammer, ‘yes...’  


He looks at you strangely. ‘Earlier, you weren’t saying for, were you? You were saying fur.’  


You wish you could disappear. This conversation is going worse than you could have possibly imagined. You manage to squeak out a yes as your face gets so hot you swear he must be able to feel it across the table.  


To your surprise, his face starts to go a bit red as well; or, you think it does. It’s a bit difficult to tell under all the dirt. ‘Whatever,’ he says, ‘I guess you like cats? That’s cool. Whatever pops your cork, I guess.’  


There’s a long, awkward silence, and to your surprise, he breaks it. ‘So, about the bag... it’s just a few little things. You know, shit from when I was younger and such. Being homeless tends to make one a bit nostalgic. None of it’s terribly interesting. Well, except... no, nothing, never mind.’ He cuts off quickly, as if he were about to say something, but changed his mind.  


Your curiosity is piqued. What did he expect, stopping midsentence like that? All embarrassment forgotten, you begin the interrogation. None can hold up under the investigative might of Nepeta Leijon. ‘Hey, what were you gonna say?’  


‘Nothing, none of your damn business.’  


He’s a tough nut to crack. ‘Come on, tell meeeeee!’  


‘No!’  


This will take all your feminine wiles. You put on your best sad kitty face, looking up at him with your big, round eyes. ‘Pleeeeaaaaase tell me?’  


He pauses for a moment. You can smell when a man is about to crack. You go in for the kill. ‘Please please please please pleeeeeeeaaaaasssseee?’  


‘Fuck, fine! It’s just a fucking harmonica. I carry a harmonica. It passes the time.’  


None can hold up under the investigative might of Nepeta Leijon. You always loved the harmonica. It’s such a beautiful, soulful instrument, even if some think it sounds like a dying cat. Of course, now that he’s told you, you must hear him play.  


‘I love the harmonica! Play a song for me!’  


‘No. No. Abso-fucking-lutely not.’  


‘Kaaaarkaaaaat, come oooooonnnn,’ you whine, reaching across to touch his hand without thinking.  


He blushes profusely, but doesn’t move his hand, just looks into your big, sad eyes for a minute. ‘... Fine. But only one song.’ After a moment, he pulls his hand from yours (and you may just be imagining this, but he seems the tiniest bit reluctant), unzips his bag and pulls out a small, worn harmonica. You can just barely make out the word Hohner across the top. He runs his tongue across it and notices how intently you’re staring at him. He returns your gaze for a moment, then lowers his eyes and begins to play.  


The sound is beautiful. The song he plays is low and slow and so so sad and it tugs at your heart strings more than the saddest movie you’ve ever seen. He pours his soul into the song, and you feel almost like an intruder. Like this is something private and intimate which you have no right to witness. And before you know it, it’s over, and you have a tear in your eye.  


He looks at you in distress, ‘Oh fuck was it that bad? Why are you crying? Come on, I’m sorry, cheer up.’  


You stop him before he can apologize any further, adorable though it really is. ‘No, no, it was beautiful. That song was just so sad. Hey, I've been thinking... do you have anywhere to stay tonight? You said it was dangerous to sleep outside in the cold, and I don’t want anything to happawn to you.’ The last two sentences just burst out of you without a thought. Part of you thinks you’re being an idiot. Sure, he’s cute and sad and adorable and he plays beautiful music and he’s really cute, too, but he’s a drifter. He might murder you in your sleep. But the overwhelming majority of you insists he wouldn’t hurt a fly.  


Looking at him, you think you may not have to worry about that. He’s practically fuming with indignation. ‘If you think I’m going to take your fucking charity, you’ve got another thing coming. I don’t need anybody’s fucking pity.’  


‘I’m not pitying you! I just thought –‘  


‘Save it. The free pie was enough charity. Congratulations, you’re a fucking saint. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have places to be.’  


He goes to stand up, and you desperately grab at his arm. ‘Wait! It’s not charity! If you do stay ofur, you’ll have to help me out around the house. And get a job as soon as you can. And play me songs on that harmonica of yours!’  


He pauses. That’s a good sign, right? Of course, he might just be getting ready to tell you off more. But no, the anger seems to go out of him almost as quickly as it came. ‘Alright, fine, you win. I’ll be your live-in maid and musician.’  


You smile at him, a giant grin that put burning magnesium to shame. ‘Great! We close up in about an hour. You can hang around until then and we’ll go back to mine!’  


‘Alright, fine. But just so we’re clear, this won’t be for more than a few days. I don’t take charity.’ Despite his harsh words, as you look back at him, you could swear he looks grateful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, so, this is the first time I've ever written anything over the course of several days. Everything else I've ever written has been all at once. Hopefully it's not any worse for it. I'm not super happy with this chapter, but it should pick up in the next few.

The hour before you can close up passes with agonizing slowness. You spend the time thinking of all the things you’ll do when you get Karkat home as you finish up some dishes and a bit of last-minute cleaning. You’ll make him a proper meal, and let him take a shower, and get him into a nice, warm bed to spend the night. The last thought gives you pause. You only own one bed. Where’s Karkat going to sleep? Well, there’s one good place, you think with a blush. But that might be a tiny bit too forward. You can always find an extra blanket and set him up on the couch. But your apartment is a mess. And it’s tiny. It’s going to be very cramped. The two of you will have to be very close to each other almost all the time...  


You shake yourself out of your silly fantasies as you realize the time. It’s time to close up and take Karkat home! But for some reason, you’re filled with trepidation. What if you’ve just made a huge mistake? You just invited a man you’ve never met to stay in your home because he seems sad and can play the harmonica. And a drifter, no less. Didn’t you read somewhere that most homeless people have mental illnesses or drug addictions of some sort? But then you look at him sitting in his booth alone, trying not to look uncomfortable, and all doubts flee your mind. You cannot leave this man to die in the cold. Your mother raised you better than that. And besides, he is pretty cute.  


You finish up what you were doing and walk over to Karkat. He seems extremely on edge, as if worried you’ll retract your offer at any time, and you feel a bit guilty for thinking of doing just that. You place a hand on his shoulder and he jumps like he’d been electrocuted.  


‘Jesus fuck, don’t fucking sneak up on me like that.’  


‘Aw, Karkat, I’m sorry! But we’re clawsing up, so it’s time to go to my apurrtment!’  


He squints up at you for a moment, as if trying to decide if you’re playing some cruel trick on him, before replying. ‘Alright, lead the way.’  


You lead him out into the mostly empty parking lot, snow falling around you and forming drifts in the fields near the diner. You find it hard to believe that something so beautiful could mean the death of someone like Karkat, but the gust of wind that chills you to your bones despite your thick coat drives the point home. You draw close to your car, an old junker you’d gotten for a few hundred bucks, and pray to god that the doors aren’t frozen shut. You seem to have lucked out this time, the door pulling open easily. As soon as you get in the car, you turn on the heat, warming your hands by the vents for a moment before realizing Karkat is still standing outside.  


‘Karkat! What are you doing out there? You’ll catch your death!’  


He looks a bit uncomfortable before he finally gets in. ‘Sorry,’ he says, closing the door behind him. ‘I was just... I dunno, I guess I’m just still a little apprehensive about this.’  


‘Don’t be! I told you, it isn’t charity; you’re going to work!’  


‘Yeah, alright... I guess.’  


He still looks extremely uncomfortable, but you dismiss it as nerves. After all, who wouldn’t be nervous about going home with someone they just met? You think back on your worries about him murdering you, and think that maybe he thinks you’re gonna murder him, and the thought almost makes you chuckle. It’s not a far drive to your apartment building, a small complex on the outskirts of a small town that’s nothing but outskirts. It’s not a terrible place, certainly not the worst in town, but it’s a far cry from the best. But, you’re happy with it. You pull into your parking space and get out, Karkat cautiously following you into the building and to your apartment. You open the door and usher him in.  


‘Well, here we are! Home sweet home!’ It’s really not much. There’s a small living room with an attached kitchenette, a door at the back of the room leading to the one bedroom and a small bathroom to the side. The living room is a complete mess, shoes scattered near the door, the small closet in the entryway overflowing with random crap you can’t be bothered finding a place for, and the couch covered in blankets and pillows, with your laptop sitting in front of it. In the corner of the room stands your small Christmas tree, decked to the nines with lights and cat-patterned ornaments.  


Looking at the mess, you let out a small cry that’s almost like a meow and blush furiously. You really did not realize it was this bad. You rush to tidy things up, frantically apologizing to Karkat, but he actually looks relieved.  


‘Nepeta, relax. I sleep in rusty god damn train cars, you think a little fucking mess is going to bother me? This is like the fucking white house to me, I mean, you really don’t have to try to impress.’  


You stop cleaning and turn to look at him, flashing a nervous smile, ‘Hee hee, I suppawse not! I’m sorry, I just don’t have guests furry often! Are you hungry or anything? I can fix you up something quick before bed.’  


‘Nah, I’m fine, thanks,’ he says, a loud grumble issuing from his stomach.  


‘Hee hee, it looks like your stomach disagrees with you! You don’t have to be pawlite, Karkat. You look like you haven’t eaten in days! At least let me get you a sandwich.’  


He tries to keep protesting, but you ignore him, going to the fridge and pulling out all the fixings for a roast beef sandwich. As you make it, you look back at him. You see the grime covering his hands and face, his hollow cheeks, his fingers that are practically nothing but bone. ‘You can go take a shower if you want,’ you call back to him, ‘I’ve got some of my cousin Equihiss’s clothes. They’ll be a little big, but I doubt you’d fit in mine, hee hee.’  


He goes a little red, then mumbles a thank you and heads to the bathroom. You finish making his sandwiches (you decided three would be better than one. After all, look at the poor thing, he’s clearly starving) and head into your room to grab some clothes for him. Your cousin Equius is probably nearly a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than Karkat, but there is no way he could possibly fit in your clothes, and you get the feeling he’d be a bit too proud to even if he could. You grab a sweater and a pair of sweat pants, hoping he won’t drown in them, pick a towel from a pile of clean laundry (your bedroom is even worse than the living room, if that’s possible) and go to knock on the bathroom door. As you draw near, you think you can faintly hear Karkat’s voice over the sound of the shower. Is he... singing? Yowling would be a better word for it, like a tom cat trying to attract a mate. It would seem his musical talents are restricted to the harmonica. You chuckle a bit to yourself before knocking on the door.  


‘Karkat! I’ve got some clothes for you! Is it okay if I come in?’  


‘What? Fuck, sure, I guess,’ he replies, sounding a bit guilty, as if he suspects that you heard his ‘singing.’  


You walk into the tiny bathroom. It, much like the rest of your house, is a mess. Various beauty products cover the area around the sink, the hamper in the corner overflows with dirty clothes, and you are extremely conscious of the fact that you asked Karkat to help you clean this place. You consider telling him not to worry about that, but you get the feeling he’d be far too proud to stay if you didn’t even let him do that much. As you set the clothes down on the lid of the toilet, you glance over to the shower. You can barely make out his outline through the curtain, but you can tell that his baggy clothes disguised a dangerously thin frame. His rib cage noticeably sticks out far past his stomach, if he could even be said to possess a stomach. You feel a bit voyeuristic staring at him through the curtain, and the knowledge that only a thin plastic curtain separates you from his naked body brings a slight flush to your cheeks and you hurry out of the bathroom, nearly slamming the door behind you.  


He emerges a short while later, and you have to stifle a laugh. He needs clothes of his own. Equius’s clothes may as well have been a circus tent. The sleeves went several inches past his hands, he had to hike up the pants every few moments, and he looked at you like he was going to kill you. You find that you can no longer hold in the laughter and it bursts from you full force. After a few moments, you wipe tears from your eyes to find him still standing in the same place, looking even angrier than before.  


‘So, what,’ he snaps, ‘did you just fucking invite me in to laugh at me? Is this your idea of some sick fucking joke? Oh, let’s take in the drifter, give him a shower, then dress him in fucking clown clothes and make him dance for his food. Go fuck yourself, you fucking cock sucker.’  


You start to feel really bad. You guess it was kinda insensitive to laugh at him like that. But, he’s still just standing there, so maybe he’s not actually that offended? He’s a hard guy to figure out. But, it’s probably best to just apologize.  


‘Aw, Karkat, I’m sorry,’ you say, giving him the sad kitty eyes. ‘But you’ve gotta admit you look funny in those clothes!’  


He takes a minute to look in the mirror on the wall near the door and goes a bit red. ‘Yeah,’ he grumbles under his breath, ‘I guess I kind of do. What the hell is your cousin, a fucking circus strong man?’  


‘Hee hee, you’re not far off! He’s in the army! He’s military purrlice, so he thinks it’s best to be stronger than anyone else, in case they get out of line,’ you reply with a conspiratorial wink. ‘Anyway, your sandwiches are here. You can use any of the blankets or pillows on the couch, although it looks like those clothes might be enough, hee hee!’  


He sits next to you on the couch, grabs his plate of sandwiches, and looks at it in disbelief before tucking in. He doesn’t attack them quite how he did the pie, but he certainly doesn’t give them any chance to get away. The way he’s going, he’s going to make himself ill, you think.  


‘Hey, Karkat,’ you say worriedly, ’Slow down a little bit. You don’t wanna make yourself sick, do you?’  


He looks confused for a moment, before he looks down at the plate and realizes that in the space of a minute or so he’d already finished the first sandwich, and they aren’t exactly small.  


‘Sorry,’ he says, swallowing a bite and refusing to look you in the eyes. ‘It’s just... been a while since I had a decent meal. I haven’t had meat in god fucking knows how long. It’s a little hard to remember to pace myself.’  


‘Karkat,’ you say, putting a hand on his knee, ‘You don’t have to worry about your next meal. Fur while you’re here, at least. There’s plenty of food; just relax.’  


He manages to look you in the eye for a moment, and there’s a lot of emotion in his eyes; you just wish you could figure out what that emotion is. ‘Yeah, well, thanks, I guess,’ he says gruffly, his voice husky, ‘I’ll try to slow down. Don’t want to offend your delicate fucking sensibilities, after all.’  


At this, you giggle, and he resumes eating, much more slowly this time. Still, he finishes them relatively quickly, and sits back, looking a bit ridiculous lounging on the couch in his oversized clothes, but very satisfied. He looks incredibly different now than when you first saw him, even though it was only two or three hours ago. The grime has been wiped from his skin and his hair is no longer coated in grease. His eyes look more peaceful now that he’s had a good meal, much less desperate and a bit sleepy. And it all just makes him even cuter than you originally found him. If you ever thought you would regret this, you definitely don’t now. But it is getting late, so you figure you should go to bed.  


‘Well, Karkat, I’m going to head to bed! I’ll see you in the morning!’  


‘Huh? Oh, yeah, I’ll see you in the morning,’ he answers sleepily. Then he straightens up abruptly and looks at you. ‘And... thank you,’ he mutters, looking away as soon as he finishes.  


You grin at him. It may be that inviting a drifter into your home has emboldened you, or perhaps it’s the sleep deprivation getting to you, but you feel a little reckless. ‘Don’t worry about it! I could hardly leave such a cute boy to die in the cold. And maybe you can make it up to me, hmmm?’ you answer with a wink.  


He turns a bright red and tries to stammer out a reply, but you head into your room before he has the chance. ‘Good night, Karkat!’ you call back, and go to bed. That night, you have very pleasant dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this chapter taking so long, guys. I wish I could say I had writer's block or I was busy over the holidays, but honestly I've just been playing a lot of Fallout 3 and AC IV. And as a side-note, how the hell do people write things over more than one day? I have so much trouble remembering my train of thought when I go back to writing the next day. I hope it turned out okay anyway. Any feedback is appreciated, and please don't be afraid to say what I've done wrong.

You wake up in the afternoon to your cat, Pounce de Leon, pawing at your face and mewling at you for food. You groan and try to turn over, but she is having none of that. She follows you, batting at your ears and yowling at you until you have no choice but to get up. You stretch out and yawn, trying to prolong your time in bed as much as you can before you have to face the harsh cold of the world outside your covers. Unable to delay any longer, you step out, trying to avoid stepping on any of the mess that litters your floor like so many land mines.  


As you open the door, you notice Karkat sitting on the couch. He’s just sitting there, bolt upright, not touching anything or moving the slightest bit. He hasn’t even turned to look at you, so odds are he didn’t hear the door open. In your mind there hatches a cunning plan, and you look to Pounce with an evil smirk. You crouch down and you creep, ever so slowly, ever so quietly, until you’re right behind the couch. Then, without warning, you jump up, clapping your hands on Karkat’s shoulders and yelling, ‘Good morning, Karkat!’  


‘Jesus shitfucking Christ, Nepeta!’ he yells, turning around to look at you. He seems prepared to launch into a full rant, but as he sees you he starts to blush and turns straight back around. ‘Nepeta. Why are you dressed like that?’  


You look down at yourself. You’re just wearing your normal pyjamas; an oversized sweater and your panties. ‘Dressed like what?’ you ask. ‘This is what I always wear to bed, silly!’  


‘Yes, but you usually stay alone, don’t you? Shouldn’t you, I dunno, cover up?’  


‘I am cofured up! I’m not naked. Jeez, Karkat, lighten up! You’d think you’d nefur seen a pawr of legs befur! Now if you’d excuse me, I have to feed Pounce!’  


‘Who the fuck is Pounce?’ he asks, casting around and noticing the cat. ‘You have a cat? Where the fuck was it last night?’  


‘She was in my room! She likes to sleep on the, uh, piles of clothes,’ you trail off, a bit embarrassed of the fact that there are piles of clothes lying around, but you soon perk up. ‘Anyway,’ you say, picking up Pounce and pushing her in Karkat’s face, ‘meet Pounce de Leon! Isn’t she just the cutest and most purrfect kitty you efur did see?’  


‘Uh, sure,’ he says, seeming unsure of what to do. He’s at least looking at you now, but he refuses to let his eyes go any lower than Pounce. You can’t help but giggle; he’s just so adorably flustered! Unfortunately, he seems to notice the laugh.  


‘What the fuck are you laughing at?’ he asks.  


‘You! You won’t look at me just claws I’m in my pyjamas, hee hee!’  


‘Well I’m fucking sorry, but I was raised to respect women and not fucking ogle them. I didn’t realize that was so god damn hilarious.’  


‘Hee hee, it’s not ogling me just to look at me! It’s not like I’m doing anything sexual! It’s only purrfurted if you’re thinking sexual things!’ at this, you waggle your eyebrows at him. ‘Ooooohhhh, is that it, then? Well, Mr. Purrfurt, get acquainted with Pounce while I go get her food. And try to control your imagination!’  


At this, he goes so red he practically glows, and seems to be gearing up for a bout of swearing so caustic it would burn the ears from a sailor, but you shut him up by thrusting Pounce into his hands and walking away, making sure to wiggle your hips a bit as you go. You can’t believe he’s so up-tight! You thought drifters were meant to be easy-going and free. Well, you know you can have a few good laughs with this!  


You get to the cupboard with pounce’s food and bend over just a little bit more than is necessary to get at it, looking over your shoulder as you do so. Unfortunately, it seems Karkat is stubbornly looking away, focusing entirely on petting Pounce. Well, that’s no fun. But you’re certain you can get him looking. You work in a diner, after all; it’s your job to get people to look at you so they’ll tip more.  


You pick up the bag and walk over to Pounce’s bowl, bending over way more than is necessary just to fill a bowl of food, and call over your shoulder, ‘Hey, Karkat, you can bring Pounce over now!’ That at least gets him to look at you, and he certainly gets an eyeful, as you attempt to perk your behind up as much as possible. You look over your shoulder as you pour the food, which is actually pretty difficult from this position, but it’s well worth it for the look on his face. He goes so red, you swear it’s only a matter of time before blood starts spurting from his nose like an anime character. For once, he seems rendered speechless, and he doesn’t even look away for a few moments. You must say, this is a very satisfying result, and you can’t help but laugh out loud.  


Hearing you, he seems to snap back to reality. His face stays red, but he’s certainly no longer speechless. ‘Nepeta Leijon,’ he begins, ‘you are one cruel, heartless fucking bitch. Here I am trying to be fucking polite and courteous and you just keep fucking laughing at me and waving... that... thing around.’  


‘And you, Karkat Vantas,’ you reply, still laughing, ‘are a pawful purrude and purrfurt. I’m just pouring food fur Pounce. I’m not waving any ‘thing’ around,’ at this you wiggle your ass a bit, ‘unless you’re refurring to having to bend ofur to pour the food? In which case, I think you’re reading way too fur into things, hee hee! Why, I’m just an innocent little girl,’ you say, straightening up and giving him your patented sad kitty eyes, ‘trying to feed my cat. Is it my fault you view efurrything as sexual?’  


He seems to struggle for a response for several seconds, before just giving up. ‘Feed your damn cat,’ he says, setting Pounce on the floor.  


As Pounce pads over to her food, you decide you’ve tortured Karkat for long enough. You walk into your room and find a pair of sweatpants to put on before you walk into the kitchen and start fixing yourself something to eat. ‘Hey Karkat,’ you call back, ‘Do you want something to eat? There’s cereal and... bread.’ You really need to do some grocery shopping. You’d think someone that worked in a diner would have food around.  


‘Uh, sure, I guess I’ll have cereal,’ he says, looking a bit uncomfortable. You’re about to ask what’s up before he continues, ‘So, uh, is there anything you wanted me to do? You said that I should help clean up and stuff to earn my keep, so...’  


‘Oh, Karkat, you don’t have to do anything just yet! We just got up!’  


‘You just got up, you mean. It’s past one in the afternoon, Nepeta.’  


‘Exactly! It’s still furry early. Too early to clean!’  


‘I think I see why this place is such a mess,’ he replies, rolling his eyes.  


‘Shush, you! Eat your cereal,’ you say, thrusting a bowl of frosted flakes at him.  


‘Fine. Thanks,’ he says, taking the cereal and digging in.  


‘So, Mr. Purroper, if I got up so late, when did you get up?’ you inquire, jabbing at him with your spoon.  


‘Get that fucking thing out of my face. Seriously, Nepeta, personal space. I dunno, eight or nine?’  


‘Eight or nine!?’ you exclaim, shocked. ‘But we didn’t go to bed until fur in the morning!’  


‘Yeah, well, sleep doesn’t really fucking agree with me. Never has.’  


‘And you’ve just been sitting on the couch fur this whole time!?’  


‘Well, I could hardly go pawing through all your shit, could I? This is your fucking house. Just because I’m homeless doesn’t mean I don’t have any fucking manners.’  


‘Hee hee, Karkat, fur as long as you’re here, you make yourself at home! Don’t worry about my stuff. It’s just clothes and stuff. Unless you’re so much of a purrfurt that even my clothes seem sexual to you, hee hee?’ at this, you once again jab him with your spoon for emphasis.  


‘I’m not a fucking pervert! I’m just not super fucking comfortable digging through your god damn underwear like some panty-sniffing creep.’  


‘Hee hee, it’s just clawth, Karkat! There’s nothing wrong with it!’ to prove your point, you go into your room and pick up a pair of your panties.  


‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ he asks, eyes widening.  


‘Oh, nothing,’ you reply, hiding the offending article behind your back as you walk forward, innocent as can be.  


‘Bull fucking shit you’re doing nothing, I saw what you just put behind your back,’ he says, setting down his bowl of cereal and backing away from you. Luckily for you and unluckily for him, your apartment is tiny and there’s nowhere to go. As soon as you get close enough, you jump forward and pounce on him, knocking him to the floor and pulling the underwear over his head in one swift motion. Luckily, the clothes and blankets on the floor cushion his fall, and you wind up straddling his chest, him staring up at you through the leg holes of his new hat and flipping the fuck out.  


‘What in the name of Jesus H. tittyfucking Christ do you think you’re god damn doing, you fucking perverted asshole? How the fuck are you this god damn heavy?’ he practically screams, flailing his arms and trying in vain to throw you off.  


‘Hee hee, you don’t grow up wresting with Equihiss and stay weak, silly! And he taught me all sorts of stuff fur when the pawtrons at the diner get a little grabby, hee hee!’ you answer, winking at him and pinning his arms to the ground.  


‘Equius the owner of these clothes?’ he asks in disbelief. ‘Equius the military policeman? You fucking wrestle with that monster?’  


‘Hey, he’s not a meownster! He’s just really strong is all. Of course I wrestle with him! We’re cousins! What else are we suppawsed to do?’  


‘Aren’t you afraid he’ll, I dunno, break every fucking bone in your body? I mean, you’re fucking tiny! This guy must be at least 250 pounds! Look at his fucking clothes!’  


‘Hey, just claws I’m little doesn’t mean I can’t wrestle! I took you down without any trouble, didn’t I?’  


‘Well, sure, but I’m not a fucking 250 pound military policeman.’  


‘Hee hee, I nefur would have guessed! Still, you shouldn’t worry about me wrestling with Equihiss! Worry about yourself, Cattain Underpawnts! I bet you couldn’t throw me off no matter how hard you tried!’  


‘Oh, it is fucking on, catgirl. You are going down.’  


He begins to struggle beneath you, attempting to raise his chest and flip you over, and to his credit, he’s stronger than he looks, but so are you. You ride him like a bucking bronco, waiting for him to tire himself out before you make any moves. But he’s a slippery little bastard, and he manages to wriggle around enough to loosen your grip a bit. And before you know it he’s got his hands on your shoulders and he’s on top of you, his face barely half a foot from yours and your legs still wrapped around him. You can feel his breath, heavy and warm, on your face as he looks at you in triumph. Growling, you wrap your arms around his neck and throw your weight to the side, rolling him back onto his back and pinning him again.  


‘Hey! No fair! I already won!’ he yells, the triumph in his eyes turning to indignation in record time.  


‘Nuh uuuuuhhh! You nefur threw me off, my legs were still around you! It was completely fur!’ you reply, sticking your tongue out at him.  


‘This is bullshit! I had you pinned! I basically won!’  


‘If I was pinned, how is it that you’re on the floor and I’m on top of you?’  


‘I don’t fucking know, you fucking cheated.’  


‘Hee hee, all’s fur in love and war!’  


‘Screw this, let me up! And let me take the god damn underwear off my fucking head!’  


‘Hee hee, oh no you don’t!’ you lean more of your weight onto his wrists, but he’s still thrashing his head around. Unfortunately, you have no extra hands to keep his head still, so you do the only logical thing and lean your forehead against his. Of course, this puts your mouths so close they’re nearly touching and smashes your nose against his, but that is just a completely unforeseen side effect.  


As your head touches his, he becomes very still. He’s not thrashing around, he’s not swearing, he’s hardly even breathing. He just stares up at you. You can feel his heartbeat beneath you, and it’s going amazingly fast, like a little hummingbird. Your mouths are so close that you can practically taste his shallow breath and you can feel the heat and moisture on your face.  


‘Nepeta...’ he says, barely above a whisper, and you can nearly feel his lips moving, ‘please get off of me.’  


‘Oh, fine, spoil spurrt.’ you say, slowly rising off of him.  


He slowly rises, but remains seated on the floor, hunched over a bit, and pulls the panties from his head. ‘Hey, since you’re over there, can you pass me my cereal?’ he asks.  


‘Sure,’ you reply, passing it over to him. He takes the bowl and sets it in his lap before resuming eating.  


‘Anyway, we should probably get to cleaning soon. Or, I should, rather,’ he says, looking around himself.  


‘Aw, I’ll help you out, Karkat! I’m not gonna make you do efurrything! Let’s just finish our food and then we can start.’ You look around at the mess. You two certainly have your work cut out for you.


	4. Chapter 4

Your name is Nepeta Leijon and you had no idea drifters were so tidy.  


For the past three hours, you and Karkat Vantas have been cleaning your living room. The mountains of clothes that once littered the floor have been sorted and set to be laundered, donated, or thrown out, depending upon their condition and if you even remembered that you owned them or not. You are currently sorting through one of the last piles as Karkat berates you for holding on to so much shit.  


‘Seriously, Nepeta, you live in a tiny fucking apartment, you have barely any closet space, and from what I’ve seen, you hardly even wear clothes at home. Why in god’s name do you have all of this?’  


You look up from the pile to stick your tongue out at him. ‘It has sentimental value, grumpy butt!’ you reply.  


‘Nepeta, you kept a filthy shirt that was more holes than fabric because it had a picture of a cat on it. That’s not sentimental value, that’s fucking autism.’  


‘Hey! I’m not pawtistic! I just apurreciate the grace and beauty of felines!’  


‘Grace and beauty my bony ass. What the fuck even is some of this stuff?’ he retorts, eyes landing on a blue hood you’d just found in the pile. ‘Is that a fucking cat hood? Why the fuck do you have a fucking cat hood?’  


‘I use it fur roleplaying, silly!’ you answer, pulling the hood over your head and sitting up like a cat. ‘The mighty huntress regards the stranger in her cave with great interest. Purrhaps, she thinks, he would like to play a game with her?’  


‘Fucking hell, you are autistic. The angry drifter thinks that’s fucking stupid and that the mighty huntress should just get back to cleaning.’  


‘Well, the mighty huntress thinks that she’s cleaned fur too much today and she needs a break! In fact, she decides to take one right meow!’ you say, standing up and walking over to the couch. You plop yourself unceremoniously down, stretching across the entire length of the couch.  


‘The angry drifter is so full of rage and scorn he believes he will pop a fucking blood vessel soon if the stupid fucking mighty huntress doesn’t finish sorting her clothes so he can clean them up.’  


‘The elegant, gracefurl, and above all, MIGHTY huntress is sick of sorting clawthes and thinks the angry drifter needs to chill out! She invites him to come join her and take a nap!’ At this, you lift up your head and pat the cushions invitingly.  


‘The angry drifter thinks that the fucking mighty huntress can take a nap after she finishes her stupid job. He also thinks that it’s fucking inane for the mighty huntress to decide to take a nap when she was so close to finishing the job, and the thought fills him with so much rage that steam starts coming out of his ears like a fucking tea pot.’ This small rant seems to be nothing but the precursor to a much larger one, but as he looks at you staring up at him with your sad eyes and inviting couch, he seems to completely deflate. ‘Fine, the angry drifter concedes. We can have a ten minute break. But after that, we’re cleaning until it’s done.’  


‘Yeeeeeeeesssss!’ you crow in triumph as he sits down. ‘The mighty huntress is pleased with the angry drifter’s decision to join her and begins to purr!’ you say, laying your head in his lap and purring.  


‘What the fuck are you doing? Get your head off my lap and stop purring. You’re not a fucking cat.’  


‘Noooope! I am a mighty lioness and you are comfurtable!’ you say, rubbing your head against his legs.  


‘Fine. You can use me like I’m a fucking pillow. Just another god damn indignity I’ve gotta put up with. And here I thought you were trying to give me charity.’  


‘Hee hee, I told you you would earn your spawt here! I wouldn’t want to pawffend you by making you think I pitied you!’  


‘Fuck, no fucking chance of that. You just wanted to lure me into your fucking dungeon to torture me so you could get some sick kicks.’  


‘Hee hee, I am the most cunning of huntresses.’  


‘Clearly. And the laziest and most untidy. Now, let’s finish cleaning this fucking pit.’  


‘Oh, shoosh, you! We are taking a relaxing break and we are going to relax! That means no working and no whining for a while!’  


‘Then what the fuck are we going to do? You can’t have been serious about taking a nap. You’ve only been awake for three hours.’  


‘So what if I have? Cleaning is a tiring job! I need to conserve my energy!’  


‘Don’t give me any of that fucking shit, you can stay awake for three hours and not need a nap. At least leave it for a few more hours, for christ’s sake.’  


‘Blaaaargh, fine, if you’re going to be that way!’ you huff, pouting up at him. Your mood is short-lived, however, and you grin up at him as an idea comes into your head. ‘Hey, I know, we can watch a mewvie! Pawss me my laptop, purrlease.’  


He hands you your laptop, still grumbling about finishing up the work, but you pay him no mind. Instead, you open it up and go to your movies folder. You are quite proud of your collection of movies, although you doubt Karkat would be interested in most of them. You have a soft spot for romance films, but he certainly doesn’t seem the sort to enjoy that.  


‘Well, Karkat,’ you say, tilting your head back to look up at him, ‘Do you want to look through and see what looks good?’  


‘Fuck, fine, if you’re hell bent on wasting as much time as possible, it may as well be with a movie I’ll actually enjoy. Let me see that,’ he says, taking the laptop from your hands and scrolling through your movies. You decide you had better sit up so he can set the laptop down, but he makes a noise after only a few seconds of looking. That’s odd, you think, you swear there was nothing but romance movies for ages.  


‘Hey, I saw billboards for this one,’ he says excitedly, and you sit up to get a better look at the screen. ‘It looked really good, but I don’t really get to see very many films, as you probably guessed.’  


You look at the movie he’s pointing at and can barely contain your shock. It’s (500) Days of Summer. He wants to watch (500) Days of Summer. The foul-mouthed, frothing with rage, incredibly sarcastic drifter wants to watch (500) Days of Summer. And what’s more, he doesn’t look like it’s just the first one he knew the title of. He looks genuinely excited to watch this movie.  


‘Uh, Karkat, are you sure this is the mewvie you’re thinking about?’ you ask nervously.  


‘I’m pretty sure. It’s the one with Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt, isn’t it?’  


‘Uh, yeah. It is.’  


‘Yeah, I saw a bunch of billboards for it when it came out and I thought it looked great. But, I mean, I couldn’t exactly go see it, being homeless and all. Oddly enough, theatres are reluctant to let in people who are dressed in rags and can’t pay.’  


‘Hee hee, I suppawse they would be.’ you reply, smiling. But there’s something about what he said that bothers you. You remember this film coming out. It was just a little before your eighteenth birthday. Karkat doesn’t look like he could be that much older than you. Heck, he might even be younger. If he was already homeless when this came out, how long has he been on the streets?  


‘Hey, Karkat,’ you begin, trying to phrase your question in the most inoffensive way possible, ‘how old are you?’  


‘I turned twenty-two in July, why?’  


‘Well, I was just thinking about what you said, and if you were already homeless when this came out, how long have you been? Homeless, I mean. If you don’t mind me asking.’  


‘Well, fuck, you’ve already invaded my personal space, you may as well invade my privacy as well,’ he answers. He suddenly seems to turn very shy, looking anywhere but at you, ‘I guess I was sixteen when I last had a home. So, fuck, six years?’  


‘Six years!?’ you exclaim, shocked out of your wits. ‘How does a sixteen-year-old kid wind up on the streets?’  


‘Fucking hell, you’re a tactful one, aren’t you?’ he snaps, glaring at you. ‘It just fucking happens, alright?’  


‘Shoot, Karkat, I’m sorry!’ you blurt out, trying desperately to repair the situation. ‘I didn’t mean to bring back any bad mempurries. If you don’t want to talk, we can just watch the mewvie!’  


He looks at you and lets out a long sigh. ‘Well, fuck, the genie’s already out of the fucking bottle, isn’t it? He’s just floating around out here telling you to make your fucking wishes, so you’d better not waste them. Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you, it’s just kind of a sensitive subject, alright? See, my mom died when I was born. We were poor, and she couldn’t afford health care. My dad, he fell in with this group of radical hippies. They went around crusading for equal fucking rights, like the people were gonna just stop being prejudiced and give everyone free health care and houses and food cause some long-haired asshole asked them nicely to. But you know the weirdest part? People listened.  


‘See, when it started out, it was just my dad and a few other people in this little group. There was this old Pakistani lady who sort of acted like a mom to everyone, this guy that claimed to be a psychic, and this crazy lady that hung on my dad’s every word. But as we all went on, going from town to town, my dad preaching his fucking ideology from whatever soap box he could find to stand on, people started following us. The old lady, Dadi Maryam, she had us call her, she always just said that my dad had a way with words. He could patiently explain things in ways that people could understand, like they were a bunch of fucking kindergartners and he had to teach them the basic concept of not being a cock-mongering douchewad,’ he pauses for a moment here, and looks lost in thought, before letting out a short, humourless laugh. ‘Fat lot of fucking good that did him.  


‘Before long, there was a pretty sizable group following us around. Dozens of people, hell, maybe even a hundred. Apparently, though, telling everybody to just be nice to each other gets you labelled a subversive by the government. Everywhere we went, we got harassed by the police, kicked out of places, fined and arrested for the tiniest things, but it never got to my dad. He just kept preaching, and he kept smiling, and he kept insisting that people were just scared because they didn’t understand, and once they understood, everything would be fine. Turns out, he was fucking wrong. See, some of the followers in the group got sick of getting kicked around and not even being able to get into stores. So they decided to just go where they wanted, police be damned. They just wanted to get some food for dinner.  


‘I remember the old psychic, Captor, running up to my dad and telling him to come quick. The cops were beating the living hell out of some of our guys cause they refused to leave a grocery store before they got what they came for. He ran out, fast as I’d ever seen him, and I tried to follow, but Dadi Maryam held me back. She told me that it was an affair for grownups, and that my dad would be back soon. She was fucking wrong, too. Starting to see a pattern?  


‘I heard later that he tried to get between the cops and our guys. They beat him to death right there. Outside a fucking grocery store in New Mexico, in the middle of broad daylight, the police beat him to death because he was trying to save his followers. And at the end of it all, he couldn’t even keep up the messiah act. He screamed at those pigs, told them everything that was wrong with them and their fucked system, and fucking dared them to finish him off. I don’t know if he thought they would back down or knew they would do it and wanted to make them think about it. They took Captor away. Pinned some phony terrorism charges on him, put him in the system and he’s not been out since. That crazy lady that followed my dad, they were gonna take her away, too, but the way I heard it, the sergeant of the responding unit saw her crying over my dad’s corpse and let her go. I guess they had to fucking kill my dad to take his message to heart.  


‘I was ten years old when that happened. Dadi Maryam tried to get them to let me stay with her, she fucking begged them, but child services thought I would be better off in foster care. Cause a single old Pakistani woman with radical ideas couldn’t be trusted to properly raise a child. They shuttled me from foster home to foster home, till I decided six years of their bullshit was enough, packed my bags, and ran away. Drifted around the country for six years, and here I am now.’ As he finishes, he sort of leans back against the couch, as if merely telling the story had exhausted him to the point that he couldn’t even sit unassisted any more.  


You begin to wonder why everything looks so blurry, until you realize your eyes are full of tears. You want to say something that can make everything better. You want to say something that can undo everything that’s happened to him. Fuck, there are over a million words in the English language, there must be some perfect combination of the perfect words that can fix all his issues and make him feel better. But you have no words. For all your years stringing together words to accomplish a goal, you have no words to accomplish what you want to now. So instead you do the only thing you can do. You grab his shoulders and pull him to you and you squeeze him as hard as you can and you cry into his shoulder and after a few seconds of him just sitting there awkwardly you feel his arms wrap around you and he squeezes you back. You don’t know how long you sit there like that. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. Time loses all meaning. The only thing that is important is that you do your best to comfort him, although you’re the one that’s crying and he’s just sitting there with his arms around you.  


Eventually, you stop crying and dry your eyes on the ridiculously oversized sweater he’s still wearing. You need to get him some clothes of his own. There are so many things you need to get for him because he deserves them and he has been through so much he deserves to just have things be easy for once, and you may not be the most well off but you can afford some clothes, damn it. And if he doesn’t want them, you’ll just make him take them.  


‘Nepeta,’ he says softly into your ear, startling you, ‘do you want to watch that movie now?’  


‘Sure, Karkat,’ you say, wiping your eyes once more before pulling away from him.  


As it turns out, Karkat, despite retaining his stoicism through his entire story, bawls like a little weenie at the end of the film.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god I did not mean for this to get like this. I was just writing and everything got real. I planned on devoting maybe two or three paragraphs to Karkat's backstory, not nearly a thousand words. And I didn't plan on it getting quite that intense. I apologize profusely.


	5. Chapter 5

It has been three days since Karkat told you his story, and you still cannot get over it. Even now, when you are alone, driving to buy groceries, it is on your mind. You have been wracking your brain for ways to make him feel like he’s really at home with you and try to put him more at ease, but so far, all you’ve come up with is getting him some clothes so he doesn’t have to wear rags or clothes that are way too big for him and trying to keep him from working too hard. And the second part hasn’t even been working very well.  


Ever since that first day, Karkat has not stopped cleaning your apartment and doing whatever odd jobs he can. He has ensured that every last inch of your apartment is sparklingly clean. He even cleaned your room (after you picked up all your underwear, of course). You feel really bad about letting him do all this, but you understand that he’s too proud to stay for free, and the last thing you want is to let him go back out on the streets. No, you need to do something that doesn’t come off as too charitable, but definitely sends the message that he can consider himself at home with you. The only problem is, you don’t have even the slightest idea what that would be.  


You pull into the grocery store’s parking lot and can’t help but smile. Today is the eighteenth of December, and the Christmas spirit is out in force. This has always been your favourite time of year. You love all the colours and the music and, most of all, how happy people are. Sure, there’s the odd grumpy gus that refuses to embrace the spirit of the season, but other than that, everyone just seems so much friendlier.  


As you walk into the store, you’re hit full in the face with a blast of cold air scented by bread and fruits of all sorts. You love the grocery store. You love wandering around and smelling all the delicious scents and seeing what seasonal foods they have. Christmas music drifts across the air, filling you with good feelings and memories from your childhood, when you and your whole family would have a big celebration. Your cousins would always come over and bring all sorts of expensive gifts, and although your family couldn’t quite afford what his could, you more than made up for it by being the most pleasant company someone could hope for during the holidays. Or at least, you like to think so.  


As you load up on eggnog and some gingerbread cookies you found that were shaped like cats, you begin to think up a plan for what you could possibly do to make Karkat feel a little more welcome. Yes, you’re quite sure you have thought of the perfect plan and you cannot wait to implement it. Filled with a renewed vigour, you hurriedly finish your shopping and swing by walmart on your way home to pick a few things up.  


You pause outside the door to your apartment and fish through a walmart bag for a few moments. Before long, you find it – a bright red santa hat with cat paw prints all over it with Santa Paws written on it. You quickly don it before bursting through the door.  


‘Ho ho ho, meowry Christmouse!’ you shout, startling Karkat so much that he jumps and knocks his head off the top of the cupboard he was cleaning. ‘Stop cleaning, Karkat, we’re decorating!’  


‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ he asks, turning to look at you and rubbing the spot on his head that he hit. As he sees you in your hat, with your bags full of decorations of all sorts, his eyes widen. ‘No. No. Fuck no. I am not decorating.’  


‘Come on, Karkat! This apurrtment is too plain since you cleaned it! It needs decorations!’ you whine, looking at him with the eyes that you know he can’t say no to.  


‘Come on, can’t you just let it be clean for one fucking week? I fucking slaved away in here like a god damn servant for days to get it perfect, now you just come in dressed like fucking Santa Clause with the express intent of ruining all my hard work.’  


‘Hee hee, not Santa Claws, silly! Santa Paws! Anyway, if efurrything is all clean and empty, it’s so boring! At least help me put up decorations! I promise I won’t make a mess!’  


‘Fuck, fine, I’ll help you put up your stupid fucking decorations for your stupid, fake holiday.’  


‘Hey!’ you reply, pouting, ‘Christmouse isn’t stupid or fake!’  


‘It is. Everyone pretends it’s about fucking giving and family and shit but it’s just about making money for the fucking rich people and bleeding the poor people dry.’  


‘Well,’ you say, sticking out your tongue, ‘it sounds like you’ve been spending Christmouse with the wrong kind of people! Now that you’re here, you’ll celebrate it right! Now start setting up the lights while I get snacks ready!’  


He grumbles some typically ornery response, but you ignore him, opting instead to pull out a Christmas-themed plate and cover it in an assortment of cookies you bought at the store earlier, with the cat cookies featured the most prominently, of course. You pour two tall glasses of eggnog and debate for a while whether or not to pour a bit of rum into them. You do have the night off, so that won’t be an issue. You decide to add a healthy shot to yours and top it with a bit of nutmeg. Of course, it would be rude not to offer some to Karkat.  


‘Hey, Karkat,’ you call, ‘do you want some rum in your eggnog?’  


‘Fuck, sure’ he yells back, ‘I’ll fucking need it to get through all this god damn Christmas cheer.’  


‘Hee hee, okay,’ you giggle, pouring a good amount into his glass as well and placing the glasses on the tray with the cookies. As an afterthought, you put the carton of eggnog and bottle of rum on as well, carefully carrying the whole tray through.  


‘Jesus Christ, Nepeta, you’re going to fucking drop something,’ Karkat yelps as he sees you carrying the overloaded tray. ‘Why don’t you just take two trips?’  


‘I’m a waitress, Karkat! I can carry a tray.’ you reply, sticking out your tongue at him and setting the tray on the coffee table.  


‘Well fine, that’ll teach me not to try to fucking look out for you,’ he replies, picking up his drink and taking a gulp, then immediately choking. ‘Jesus Nepeta, how much rum did you put in this?’  


‘The same amount I put in mine. I don’t think I put in more than usual,’ you answer, frowning and taking a sip from your drink. ‘No, it tastes normal to me. Are you not used to drinking, Karkat?’  


‘Well, I’m sorry, but I’m usually a bit too preoccupied with finding food to sit around getting wasted off my ass.’  


‘Aw, I can get you a weaker one if you want and I can just drink that one! You don’t have to have it.’  


‘No, fuck you, I can drink this just fine,’ he snaps, taking another large gulp and visibly shuddering.  


‘Hee hee, Karkat, you don’t take huge gulps. You just take little sips! Trust me, I’ll show you how to drink,’ you say, winking at him and taking another sip from your eggnog.  


He glares at you, but at least he seems to have enough sense to take your advice instead of continuing to take huge gulps just to spite you. It seems to go down much easier this time, and he looks to the platter and grabs a cookie. ‘Seriously, Nepeta?’ he asks, raising an eyebrow as he takes a bite from one of the gingerbread cookies you bought. ‘Cat shaped cookies? I swear to god, you must be fucking autistic.’  


‘Hee hee, I told you, I just apurreciate the grace and beauty of the feline furm!’  


‘Sure. Now let’s get this fucking decorating over with,’ he says, finishing his cookie and grabbing the bags of decorations. You really went all-out for this. There are strings of lights, blow-up reindeer and elves and such, even a few fancy santas. Karkat fishes out some lights and begins stringing them up over your window, and you get to work on blowing up the reindeer and elves.  


By the time you’ve each finished your respective jobs, you’ve had four glasses of eggnog and rum and Karkat has had the same, seeming to try to keep up with you out of some misplaced sense of pride. You’re pretty tipsy at this point, although not quite full-on drunk. You wish you could say the same for Karkat. The fact that he doesn’t drink is abundantly clear.  


‘Hee hee, Karcat, I think you’ve had enough to drink,’ you say, tossing an inflated elf at him.  


‘Jesus dicksucking Christ, are you trying to kill me?’ he cries, abjuring the hell out of the inflatable elf and waving his arms so hard that he nearly falls over. ‘I don’t know what you mean about having too much,’ he says after regaining his composure. ‘I am purrfectly fine.’  


‘Hee hee, Karcat, did you just say purrfectly!?’ you squeal, oddly happy over such a small thing.  


‘I did fucking not,’ he slurs back at you.  


‘You did you did you did!’ you yell, jumping up and hugging him. You realize that this reaction is probably disproportionate to what actually happened, but you can’t help it.  


‘Fucking shit, Nepeta, you seriously... you seriously need to respect my purrsonal space. If I made one of your insufferable fucking cat puns, it’s just... it’s just cause you always make them, alright?’  


‘Hee hee, Karcat, you did it again! I’m rubbing off on you!’ you answer, hugging him even tighter.  


‘That’s fucking crazy, Nepeta. You’re not fucking rubbing me, you’re staying still. I have to rub myself.’  


You pause and look up at him. ‘Uh... What?’ you ask, completely flabbergasted.  


The alcohol seems to have dulled his thought processes enough that he still hasn’t realized what he’s saying, because he doesn’t seem embarrassed. ‘You don’t rub me,’ he continues, looking down at you with droopy eyes, ‘I have to... I have to rub myself if I wanna be rubbed. Cause you don’t rub me.’  


‘Uh, Karcat,’ you reply slowly, trying to figure out if he’s saying what you think he’s saying. ‘What do you mean, rub you?’  


‘What do you mean, what do I mean?’ he asks, knitting his brow in confusion. ‘I mean you don’t... you don’t rub me when I wanna be rubbed. That’s not your fucking job. You already give me food and a place to live fur practically nothing, you can’t do more than that. I gotta... I gotta fucking pay you back. I can’t ask shit of you, I gotta pay you back.’  


Despite yourself, you can’t help but giggle at his use of the word fur. Still, you think that perhaps you shouldn’t still be hugging him. It’s not that you aren’t interested in the things he may or may not be implying, but he seems pretty drunk, and it wouldn’t be right to go further with things when he’s in this state. For all you know, he’s never even been drunk before. He did run away at sixteen, so he probably never got a driver’s license or anything to use as id to buy alcohol, and he doesn’t strike you as the type to be underage drinking.  


‘Karcat,’ you begin, pushing him to arm’s length, ‘purrhaps you should lie down fur a bit. We can finish this later, when you’ve sobered up a little. And we can talk a little about this.’  


‘No, no, no, I’m fucking... I’m fucking fine,’ he slurs at you, casting around, finding the elf you had thrown at him, and picking it up. ‘I gotta finish this job to pay you back. Until I can pay you back with real fucking money, I gotta fucking... Fucking... I gotta fucking do whatever needs to be done.’ As he finishes, he sets the elf on its side under the Christmas tree and pats it on the head, looking inordinately proud of his work.  


You are completely dumbstruck. You knew Karkat felt like he owed you, but you had no idea he felt so strongly about it. You had tried your best to keep him from feeling this way, but it seems that that didn’t work. This whole thing was meant to make him feel more at home. It wasn’t meant to be another job for him to do. And you have no idea how to convince him of that. Maybe it would be better to just make him sleep this off and talk about it in the morning. God knows you’re not prepared for it now.  


‘Look, Karcat,’ you begin, your tongue suddenly feeling big and unwieldy in your mouth. Great, you think, I just had to suggest rum, ‘you don’t owe me anything. Now, I think you should just take a little catnap, and we’ll talk about this in the morning.’  


And he suddenly looks like he’s going to cry. You have no idea what to do, but before you can think of anything he grabs you and hugs you again and starts bawling into your shoulder.  


‘You’re so fucking nice to me,’ he sobs, taking huge breaths between words. ‘No one’s been this nice to me since I was ten. People wouldn’t even give me the fucking time of day. Thank you so much.’ And he descends into incoherent bawling.  


On the one hand, you wish you had never given him anything to drink. You wish he had just stayed sober and never mentioned any of this so you could just keep trying to make him feel like he’s at home with stupid, ineffective gestures. On the other, you’re incredibly glad he’s told you these things, and you want so badly to fix all these issues he has. You want to show him that things can be good for him, and that he can be happy, and that he’s worth just as much as anyone else. And, you’re ashamed to admit, a small, selfish part of you wants to keep him here, with you, dependent on you for everything so that he’ll never leave.  


But you can work all of that out later. For now, there is a much more pressing matter. Karkat’s sobs seem to have turned into snores. Gently, you lay him down on the couch, cradling his head in your lap and watching him sleep. You will need to sort out your feelings. Even those dark, selfish ones you don’t even want to admit exist. But for now, you can just sit here, with his head in your lap, and relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys, this started out as just me forcing myself to write because I was bored and had nothing else to do, but then I got into the groove and now it's quarter past two and this happened. I swear to god I did not plan on this fic being sad. Or full of quite so many sexual themes. It just happened.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, kinda a short chapter, but I feel like prolonging it would have ruined it. Don't read if you're triggered by self-loathing, drug use, or alcohol abuse.

You wake up to Karkat shifting, his head still on your lap. Yawning, you take a look at your phone and see that it’s past ten at night; you dozed off for nearly three hours. Despite his turning, Karkat is still sound asleep, and you’re struck by how peaceful he looks. Despite living in the same house as him for the past few days, you never saw him asleep; he always woke up long before and went to bed long after you. But now that you’ve caught him asleep, he’s practically a different person.  


The permanent scowl on his face is gone, replaced with an expression that is not happy, but singularly peaceful. His ordinarily furrowed brow is smooth and relaxed, and you’re surprised by how much younger he looks. Sure, his cheeks are still hollow and his years of hard living are still evident, but for once he just looks like an average guy, barely more than a kid. You realize that it must have been hard for him, being a kid and growing up. It must have been hard, and there was nobody that could understand.  


Of course, the peace on Karkat’s face could not last long. After a short while, his face becomes distressed, and you think that he must be having a nightmare. Frankly, you’re not surprised; after what he’s been through, you would be shocked if he didn’t have nightmares. Unfortunately, your lack of surprise doesn’t change the fact that he looks to be in so much pain you can hardly bear to look at him.  


You consider waking him up, but by the looks of him, the nightmare will do that for you soon. This must be why he says that sleep doesn’t agree with him. Instead, you decide to try to comfort him. With the gentlest of touches, you stroke his cheek, at the same time shooshing him in the lowest, most soothing voice you can manage. It is the same method you used to use to calm down your cousin when he was younger and would go into nearly uncontrollable rages and, oddly enough, the same way you calm down animals that are freaking out. You have always been able to act as a calming influence, but then, you’ve never exactly tried with someone as troubled as Karkat.  


Luckily, he seems to respond well to it. Slowly, the peace returns to his face, and he relaxes back into the deep slumber he had been in. You wonder if that was all he needed for a decent night’s sleep that whole time; just someone that would sit with him and calm him down when he had nightmares. He’s probably never had anyone do that for him, you think. Honestly, considering how stubborn and proud he is, he probably never even thought about it. You wonder if he ever got any therapy for the trauma his father’s death must have inflicted upon him, but you dismiss the notion. How could he have possibly gotten therapy? He’s been either homeless or in foster care since it happened, and even if his foster parents tried to take him, he would probably refuse to go.  


For a while, you just sort of stare down at Karkat, still stroking his head and thinking. At the forefront of your mind are the events of earlier that night. But the thing that sticks out the most isn’t Karkat’s little outburst about rubbing (which isn’t to say that that isn’t on your mind – it certainly is), but how you felt seeing him so vulnerable. It makes you sick that a part of you, however small, wanted to keep him that way... and still does. In the past few days, you have grown so attached to Karkat you can’t imagine him leaving, but you know that it will happen once he gets a job and he can move out. What reason would he have to stay?  


What do you have to offer him, other than a place to sleep and a warm meal? You think back to your days in school, the lunches spent alone, the evenings on your computer roleplaying with people online. But for the most part, they had outgrown that. These days, you only had Tavros to roleplay with. Terezi had long since decided that she was too grown up for that; honestly, you’re not sure if she was ever completely sincere about it. You can always talk to Equius, but he’s stationed in El Paso and he was never one to roleplay. He thinks that it’s beneath him. You never told him how saying that it was beneath him made you feel like you were beneath him.  


If nobody else would stay with you, why would Karkat? Karkat, who has spent years surviving on his own. To him, how could you be anything but useless baggage?  


The bottle of rum on the table catches your eye. It would be so, so easy to get rid of those thoughts. It wouldn’t be the first time you killed your insecurities with chemical aid. It always worked just fine until it wore off. For a while, various intoxicants were your best friends and only company on some nights. You never quite got addicted to anything, but the amount you used certainly wasn’t healthy. But what else were you supposed to do? What were you supposed to do when everyone else was out having fun and growing up and going places and you were stuck here, without the money or the grades to go to university?  


So, you drank. And you smoked. Until you didn’t feel like such a loser, a failure, a reject. You knew it wasn’t the right way to go about it. But it was the only thing that helped. When all your dreams were gone, it made you forget you ever had dreams. And honestly, that was the best feeling you ever had.  


It’s been months since the last time you did that. Sure, you’ve had the occasional drink or smoke, but you’ve not gotten so trashed that you forgot who you were. Not that you didn’t want to, but you’ve been determined to clean up your act and stop pitying yourself so damn much. Not that it completely worked, but at least you were pitying yourself sober. But lately, you don’t think you can do it anymore.  


You remember crying after you got off the phone with your mom and she told you that she and your dad were staying in Florida for Christmas. You didn’t quite blame them; they were starting to get old, and your grandparents lived in Florida all year round. You would be with them right now if you could afford to take that long off of work. But you can’t. You can’t even afford the gas for the trip. It wouldn’t even be that bad if it weren’t for the fact that Equius is in El Paso.  


You can’t take it. Careful not to jostle Karkat too much, you reach over him and grab the bottle and your glass. You don’t bother with the eggnog; you simply pour yourself a glass of rum and down it. You can feel it tracing fire down your throat and nearly choking you, but you have enough experience with this to keep it down. Without pause, you pour yourself another, not giving yourself time to think about it, to regret it, to realize what you’re doing and hate yourself for it even more than you already hate yourself. This one takes you a moment longer to finish; you sputter and you choke, but you manage to force it. Your face is hot and wet, but the numbness is starting to take over and the next one doesn’t even burn.  


You finish the bottle in short order. Somehow, through this entire ordeal, Karkat still has not woken up. Your vision is so blurred that you can barely see, but somehow that only makes him cuter. You giggle to yourself as you think back on how he was earlier when he was drunk. You are sure that his ramble about rubbing was referring to masturbation, and if you’re right, then he must have been implying that he was attracted to you. If he’s attracted to you, you should make a move. And what time would be better than now?  


You clumsily stroke his face, thinking of how his mouth would taste mixed with the rum. How amazing it would be to feel his arms around you, for his body warmth to mix with the warmth that the alcohol brings. You know he must be attracted to you, and you’ve been attracted to him since you first saw him, so what reason would you have not to try? No reason, that’s what reason. You should have tried ages ago; you have no idea why you didn’t. You guess you just didn’t have enough confidence. Why did you ever stop drinking so much in the first place? It makes these things so much easier.  


You’re gonna do it. You’re gonna make your move on him. Sure, he’s still asleep, but what could be better than waking up to a kiss? You know he won’t be mad. How could he be? You’re a cute girl, he’s a cute boy, it’s just natural. So, you bend down, and plant a big, sloppy kiss right on his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, this chapter got seriously personal. I nearly couldn't finish writing it. I hope it paid off, though.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus christ, over a thousand hits. Shit's crazy, man. Thank all of you for taking the time to read this. I hope I made it worth your while.

As you press your lips to his, it’s everything you imagined. He is soft and warm and wonderful. It is absolutely everything you imagined. Until, of course, he wakes up.  


It takes him a few seconds. But before long he does open his eyes, and he jumps in surprise, knocking his forehead against yours and sending you reeling.  


‘Owwww, Karcat, what was that fur?’ you slur, barely understanding what’s going on.  


‘Holy fucking shit Nepeta, what the fuck is going on? Have you lost your fucking mind? Were you just trying to fucking make out with me in my fucking sleep?’ his eyes are wide and he’s backing away from you, but you don’t understand why. Doesn’t he want to kiss?  


‘Kaaaaarcaaaaat,’ you whine, trying to focus on his face. Unfortunately, you have trouble deciding on which of the three you should be looking at. ‘I just wanted to kiss you and stuff. I thought you wanted that, too.’  


‘You just wanted to fucking kiss and stuff? Nepeta, I was asleep. You don’t fucking come up to someone and start making fucking advances on them in their sleep. What the hell is wrong with you?’ he’s practically shouting at this point, and glancing around the room. You watch and say nothing as he stands up and grabs the empty bottle of rum off of the table.  


‘Nepeta, what the fuck? This was more than half full earlier. Did you fucking drink all of this while I was asleep? Please don’t tell me you drank all of this while I was asleep. Why the fuck would you do that?’ He’s not really yelling any more, he’s just waving his arms around and looking really concerned, but somehow that’s worse. You still don’t completely understand what’s going on, but you think you’re starting to get the gist of it.  


‘I’m furry, furry sorry, Karcat,’ you mewl at him, not meeting his eyes. ‘Purrlease don’t be mad.’  


‘Mad? Jesus Christ, Nepeta, yes, I’m mad, but I’m fucking worried, too. What the fuck is going on? What in god’s name possessed you to drink nearly a whole bottle of rum and then fucking molest me in my sleep?’  


‘I’m sorry, Karcat,’ you answer, and you can’t think of anything else to say. How the hell can you explain your reasoning? Even if you were sober, you don’t think you could, and you are far from sober. You regret drinking so much. You regret ever even thinking about drinking. You wish you could just go back and stop yourself from picking up the bottle and doing so much stupid shit because now Karkat’s angry and you know he’s going to leave and you’re so fucking stupid and suddenly you’re crying and you can’t stop.  


You want to die. Karkat isn’t even saying anything anymore, and you aren’t willing to look up to see if he’s even still there. It’s bad enough you’re audibly sobbing in front of him, he doesn’t need to see the tears. He probably isn’t still there. Or if he is, it’s just because he’s too shocked to walk out. You know that any second now, you’ll hear his feet shuffle across the carpet, then the creak of the door as he walks out of your life for good. You should have just left it. He never actually liked you. He probably meant shoulder rubs or something when he was drunk earlier. You were just reading too far into things and making a complete fucking fool of yourself.  


When you do hear a sound, it’s not a door opening. It’s not footsteps across the carpet and away from you. Rather, it is the sound of him sitting down on the couch next to you, accompanied by the feeling of his arms pulling you towards him and wrapping you in a hug.  


‘Shoooosh, Nepeta,’ you hear, and his voice is so gentle you hardly recognize it. ‘It’s alright. But you need to tell me what’s going on and why you did this.’  


‘I... I... I just kinda thought you liked me too,’ you sniff as you peek up at him, hoping to avoid having to explain why you were drunk enough to think that in the first place.  


‘Alright, that explains the kissing,’ he says slowly, and you wish that you could read his expression, but you can hardly even make out his face between the tears and the alcohol, ‘but it doesn’t explain the empty bottle of rum.’  


Damn. You let out a few ums and uhs, trying to stall for time long enough to come up with a convincing lie, but your brain is working at half speed and you just want to let everything spill and hope for the best. But you need to at least try to save face. ‘I, uh... I was thirsty,’ you say, stumbling over the words in your drunken half-stupor, ‘and you were sleeping on me so I didn’t wanna... didn’t wanna get up. Cause you would wake up. So I drank the rum. Cause I was thirsty.’  


‘Nepeta,’ he sighs, and even though you can’t make out his face you know he’s disappointed, ‘I don’t believe you. If you were thirsty, there was a bottle of eggnog right next to the rum. Now, why did you drink all that?’  


You can’t take it anymore. ‘Cause you’re going to leave me,’ you cry out, once more lapsing into horrible sobbing, ‘you’re g-going to luh-leave and I’m gonna be a-huh-lone again.’  


For what seems like hours, he doesn’t say a word. He just sits there with his arms around you, and you can’t completely tell but you think they get a little tighter. When he finally does speak, it’s not what you expected at all.  


‘Why do you want me to stay?’ he asks, and the question shocks you. You don’t understand. What does he mean, why do you want him to stay? Of course you want him to stay. How could you possibly not? Over the course of the past few days, you have fallen head over heels in love with this angry, obnoxious, horribly damaged drifter, and you can’t imagine how you’d get by without him. You don’t care if you can’t spend Christmas with your family this year, so long as you can spend it with him.  
He repeats his question, and you realize that you were so taken aback that you forgot to answer him.  


‘Because I love you,’ you squeak. You know it’s probably not the best idea to just come out and say it like that, but it’s true and you’re too drunk to think of any other way to put it.  


He stiffens, but his hold around you doesn’t slacken; if anything, it grows even tighter. Tight enough that even your alcohol-numbed limbs can feel him squeezing. After a while, he finally speaks up.  


‘You don’t mean that,’ he mumbles into your hair. ‘That’s just the alcohol talking. You can’t love me.’  


‘I do!’ you sharply reply, looking up into his eyes defiantly. Or, you think you’re looking at his eyes. ‘I don’t care if we’ve only known each ofur fur a few days, I love you. I love efurrything about you and I nefur want you to leave. It’s not just the alcohol talking. I felt this way sopurr, I just couldn’t say it propurrly.’  


‘Shoosh, Nepeta,’ he responds, pulling your head to his chest. ‘We’ll talk about this when you sober up.’  


‘No,’ you angrily object, pushing away from his chest so you can look him in the eye, ‘we’ll talk about it meow. I finally meowntioned how I feel, I’m not going to just leave it meow.’  


‘Fucking hell Nepeta, you are too fucking drunk to talk about this shit,’ he answers, returning to his usual ornery tone. ‘I’m not going to take advantage of the feelings of a girl that’s too drunk to stand.’  


‘You’re not furreaking taking advantage of me!’ you shout. ‘And I can stand!’ In order to prove your point, you angrily begin to rise to your feet, only to fall back down immediately as the alcohol rushes to your head. Alright, maybe you can’t stand, but that doesn’t mean you can’t talk about this. How dare he suggest he’s taking advantage of you, as if you can’t make your own damn decisions. Besides, it’d only be taking advantage if he was doing something sexual, and nothing sexual is going on. Unless... wait, did he just imply he returns your feelings!?  


‘Karcat, I love you. That won’t change when I sopurr up. I just want you to stay.’  


You’re still having trouble with discerning the look on his face, but he seems conflicted. ‘Nepeta,’ he falters, ‘I can’t. I can’t fucking stay and let you take care of me. You’re a fucking waitress, how the hell could you possibly afford to feed me and all? And even if you could, I couldn’t possibly let you. I’m not so big a fucking shitstain that I would let a girl pay for everything for me when she’s clearly not got much money to begin with.’  


‘Karcat, it’s not like you’re going to be unemployed furever. If we just get you some nice clawthes, you’ll be able to get a job. There must be something out there fur you. And as fur suppawrting you fur now, well, I’ve got enough saved up that it won’t be a purroblem fur a while. Long enough fur you to get a job. You don’t have to leave. Karcat, I don’t want you to leave.’  


‘Nepeta...’ he begins, but you interrupt him.  


‘Karcat, just tell me. Do you want to stay?’  


For the longest time, he is silent. Or maybe that’s just the anticipation making it seem like a long wait. But you are certain there is no way for anticipation to stretch time quite this much. Maybe you were wrong about his feelings? Maybe you’re just forcing him away by making him come clean? But just when you really start to worry, he answers.  


‘Yes. I want to stay,’ he whispers, and your heart soars. Before he can say anything else you squeal and grab onto him, knocking him onto his back and eliciting a string of swears from him.  


‘Karcat, do you really mean it?’ you ask, looking down at his face from your vantage point on top of him.  


‘Yes, I fucking mean it,’ he answers, stopping his stream of profanity. ‘Nepeta, I want you just as fucking much as you want me. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to fucking mooch off of you.’  


‘Karcat, shoosh. You’re ruining the moment,’ you scold. ‘We’ll get you a job soon. There must be a few places that you can apply.’ And before he can ruin the moment further, you kiss him full on the lips. He seems surprised for a moment, but he soon begins kissing back. Wow, you think, this is way better when he’s conscious. You make a mental note to do this much more often. And maybe try to do a little more, as well.  


After a few moments of bliss, you bring your head back and look at him. ‘So, was it okay now that you’re awake?’ you inquire, a cheeky tone to your voice.  


‘Yes. Fuck yes. If you want to make out with me, make sure I’m awake so I can fucking enjoy it.’  


‘Hee hee, I think I can do that,’ you answer, dipping down to kiss him again. This time, it lasts longer, and you decide to try to explore his mouth with your tongue. After a bit of prodding, he opens his mouth and pushes back. Your tongue is clumsy and half-numb from the alcohol, but his mouth still feels and tastes so good, and you grow more and more aggressive, before you finally, reluctantly, have to withdraw for air.  


‘Jesus Christ Nepeta, you taste like a fucking pirate,’ he says, planting a quick peck on your lips.  


‘Hee hee, does that mean I can steal your booty?’ you joke, winking clumsily at him.  


‘Shut the fuck up,’ he stammers, blushing furiously. ‘Isn’t it a little early for that?’  


‘Oh fine, purrude. I suppawse we can pace ourselves,’ you sigh, kissing him once more to disguise how disappointed you actually are.  


‘Well, we don’t have to pace ourselves too much,’ he says, sliding his hands down your waist to grab your ass and eliciting a small squeal from you, ‘But I think it’s a bit much to go so fast on the first night of our relationship, especially when you’re this drunk.’  


‘Hee hee, I guess,’ you reply. ‘I suppawse I can wait a while.’ As you fall on him to kiss him again, you are so happy. ‘So, does that mean we’re in a relationship meow?’ you ask after you’ve satisfied your urge to taste him for a few more moments.   


‘Well, fuck, I should hope so. That’s generally what making out means, isn’t it?’  


You can’t help but giggle at that, and you try to lay your head down on his chest. Unfortunately, there’s not exactly a ton of room on the couch.  


‘Hey, Karcat,’ you begin, sitting up to straddle him. ‘It must be really uncomfortable to sleep on the couch, huh?’  


‘Well, it’s not that bad,’ he replies, settling his hands on your waist, ‘but it leaves my neck feeling like someone’s taking a fucking ice pick to it.’  


‘Weeeelllll,’ you say, tracing your finger up his chest, ‘you don’t have to sleep on the couch any more, you know.’  


‘What? Where else would I...’ as it dawns on him, his eyes widen. ‘Oh. Uh, yeah, that would be nice.’  


‘Well, it is purretty late,’ you say, rising off of him and stumbling a bit as you find your feet. Though your head feels much clearer, the same cannot be said for your body. ‘Do you want to go to bed?’  


‘Uh, fuck, yeah, I guess,’ he stutters, rising to his feet and following you through to your bedroom. He blushes and looks away as you undress to sleep, but when you lie down and invite him into the bed, he practically jumps in his rush to lie down with you. Of course, you don’t go to sleep quite yet. Indeed, it takes all of your self control, and you’re sure all of his as well, to keep from just jumping his bones right now. But eventually the two of you settle down, and you sleep better than you have for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, to be honest I'm not super happy with how this chapter turned out, but I figured it was best to just post it and get it done with rather than keep revising it and possibly making it worse. I hope you all enjoy, and you know, if there's something you think I could do better, don't hesitate to say


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, sorry for how long this took. I've been having a kinda bad time of it, but I finally got it done and I'm actually semi-happy with how this chapter turned out for once.

As usual, you are awoken by Pounce pawing at your face, meowing for food. As usual, you attempt to turn over, trying to sleep for just a little longer before you have to get up and face the day (and the massive headache you find yourself with). However, something blocks you as you try to turn. Something large and warm and soft and very unusual to find in your bed.  


Undeterred, you try to turn in the other direction, determined to avoid responsibility for just a little longer, only to find your way once more blocked, this time by something wrapped around your body. Something connected to the large, soft, warm thing in your bed. This development is quite confusing. What might be in your bed that’s large, warm, soft, and has parts wrapped around you?  


Confounded, you decide to finally give in and open your eyes. You are extremely grateful for your heavy curtains, but even so, the light stings your eyes and exacerbates the throbbing in your head. But after a few moments, your eyes focus enough to recognize what it is that’s in your bed and blocking your movement. Oh. It’s Karkat. What’s he doing in your bed? Did something happen last night? Jesus Christ, did you two bone? Think, Nepeta. You must remember.  


The memories of last night flood back to you, causing the blood in your face to do the same. Jesus, did you really do all that? God damn, that is embarrassing. But at least you didn’t actually screw his brains out, you think with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Of course, that might not be terribly far off, considering how far you two went the previous night.  


Maybe it’s not that embarrassing, you think. I mean, it landed you the guy you’ve been falling for for the past few days. Of course, you’ve only known him for those few days, and you might be making a huge mistake by rushing into this so quickly, but hey, so long as you enjoy the ride, who cares where it takes you? Of course, this all really depends on how Karkat feels when he wakes up. Maybe he’ll regret last night. Maybe he was just trying to humour you because you were drunk and sad. Maybe he was still drunk when he agreed to be in a relationship with you. He ran away from his foster family, what’s to stop him from running away from you?  


You immediately scold yourself for thinking such a horrible thought. From what you’ve managed to squeeze out of Karkat, life in the fostering system was hellish. He had every reason to leave. You’ve not given him any reason to feel that way about living with you. Have you?  


You feel terrible. You have a pounding headache, you’re incredibly nauseous, Pounce still hasn’t stopped meowing and batting at your head, and now you’re anxious about how Karkat will react when he wakes up. Maybe getting trashed last night wasn’t the best idea.  


You decide that the first order of business should probably be to feed Pounce. Then you definitely need some water. And a bacon sandwich, if you can keep that down. But you should probably try to avoid waking Karkat up when you stand up. You’d rather leave confronting him till a little later. Of course, that raises the issue of how to get out of bed without waking him, but you were always a pretty stealthy girl. You’re sure you can manage.  


You begin by applying a gentle pressure to the arm that’s wrapped around you, trying to raise it off of you without rousing him from his sleep. So far so good, you think, just before his brow knits in his sleep and he lowers his arm again, squeezing you tighter than ever. Honestly, it’s pretty cute, and you would even really enjoy it if it weren’t for the fact that it felt like a group of particularly playful kittens were using your brain and stomach as balls of yarn. Not to mention the significantly less playful and significantly more ornery cat still using your head as a ball of yarn. You suppose there’s no way around it. You’ll have to wake Karkat up.  


‘Hey, Karkat,’ you whisper, even the sound of your own voice sending pangs of pain through your head. ‘Wake up.’  


No response. You decide to try shaking his arm a bit, to no avail. Wasn’t he supposed to be a really light sleeper? Maybe you were just so cuddly that he couldn’t help but sleep heavily, you think to yourself, and the thought puts a smile on your face despite how ill you feel. Of course, while that’s all well and good for him, it poses quite the issue for you.  


‘Kaaaaaarkaaaaat,’ you whine, poking his face for good measure. Subtlety is for losers. ‘waaaaake uuuuuuup.’  


Finally, he begins to stir. Slowly, and with a loud groan, he opens his eyes, rubbing them with one hand and never relaxing his grip on you with the other.  


He’s cute waking up, but your head pounds with the fury of a raging lioness, and that groan does not help anything. ‘Karkat, shoosh!’ you berate him, cringing at the pain in your head. ‘Some of us are hung ofur!’  


At this, he looks down at you and frowns. ‘Fucking hell, Nepeta,’ he replies, but you note with some pleasure that he keeps his voice soft enough that it doesn’t hurt your head too much. ’This is what you get for drinking like an unsupervised teen with the key to their dad’s liquor cabinet. What time is it?’  


‘How should I know?’ you ask, poking at his nose playfully, ‘I’ve not been able to get out of bed beclaws somepawdy wouldn’t let go of me.’  


As you say this, you see his brow knit in confusion, and he looks down to see his arm wrapped around you. You struggle to stifle a laugh as he begins to blush as if he hadn’t even realized he was holding on to you so tightly. ‘Well, it’s not my fault you’re fucking cuddly,’ he grumbles at you.  


‘Cuddly as I may be, I think Pounce is getting impawtient fur her breakfast, and I purrsonally could use some water,’ you say, grimacing as you finish the sentence.  


‘Alright, alright,’ he concedes, slowly loosening his grip on you and backing up. However, as he gets far enough back to see you properly, he gets a very concerned look on his face. ‘Christ on a fucking bike, Nepeta,’ he breathes, ‘you look like death warmed over. Stay in bed. I’ll take care of everything.’  


You try to protest, but he just shooshes you and gets out of bed, leaving the room with Pounce padding after him. In truth, you are immensely grateful to him. You doubt you could get through feeding Pounce and getting yourself food and water without vomiting at least once. Plus, this gives you the chance to think through what you’ll say to Karkat when you do finally confront him about last night.  


You must say, though, you’re feeling better now, having seen that he didn’t freak out when he woke up next to you, than you did before. Things might actually turn out alright after all, you think. If nothing else, it was certainly an ego boost to learn that you were right about being cuddly. You think that you must be even cuddlier than you thought, because this is the first time you’ve ever woken up before Karkat.  


Still, this only makes you marginally less nervous for the eventual confrontation, and you spend the next fifteen minutes or so trying to think of what you can possibly say to Karkat when he comes back into the room. Unfortunately, at the end of that time, you’ve thought of nothing and the door is beginning to open, letting in a strong smell of bacon smoke. In walks Karkat, struggling to hold a large glass of water in one hand and a plate with a few bacon and lettuce sandwiches in the other while opening the door and not dropping anything. You can’t help but giggle despite your nervousness; Karkat wouldn’t make it five minutes as a waiter.  


Still, he manages to get through without spilling anything, and hands you the glass and the plate before sitting down on the edge of the bed, shooting you a dirty look as he hears your giggle. You stick your tongue out at him before taking a drink. The water is cool and stings your throat a bit, but it feels so good and you can start to feel your headache lessening a tiny bit. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help your stomach, and you’re worried you won’t be able to keep it down, so you set down the glass and pick up the plate.  


You look down at the sandwiches and try to avoid wrinkling your nose a bit. Karkat really means well, but he’s clearly not had much experience in the kitchen. Not to mention that you hate lettuce, although you can’t blame him for not knowing that. On a day when you weren’t hung over you might have just powered through it and ate the lettuce to spare his feelings, but today you really don’t think you can manage it, so you take the top slice of (slightly burnt) toasted bread off the first sandwich and put the lettuce to the side, revealing the (extremely burnt) bacon beneath. As you replace the bread, you look up to see Karkat looking a bit concerned and crestfallen. He must be worried that he messed up too much on the sandwiches, you think, so you smile at him and take a bite, forcing yourself to keep the smile on as you choke it down. In truth, it isn’t quite as bad as it looked. True, the bacon is burnt and the saltiness makes you wish for ten more glasses of water, and the toast has that distinctive ashy taste of something that was severely burnt before someone tried to scrape off the burnt bits, but he at least remembered to put enough butter on it to make it somewhat palatable, and the combination of starch and protein helps to settle your stomach a bit.  


As you swallow, you look up to Karkat and flash him as big a grin as you can manage in your current state. ‘Thank you, Karcat!’ you say, trying to sound cheerful. ‘It’s furry good!’ You pause for a moment, debating, then give him a quick kiss on the cheek. You figure you need to confront him about last night soon, and this might give you more of an indicator of how he feels.  


His reaction does not disappoint you. His face lights up like it’s on fire, and he mutters a quiet you’re welcome while staring down at his hands. You can’t help but giggle a bit. Despite how grumpy he always acts, he’s nothing but a big cutie and you know it. You finally think you’re comfortable enough to talk about last night. The only problem is figuring out how to bring it up.  


You may not actually have to worry about that, you think, as Karkat purposefully clears his throat and looks up at you, his face still burning red. ‘So, about last night...’ he stammers, looking as nervous as a kid getting a call home from school, ‘I’m really sorry. You were drunk and upset, and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your feelings like that. I really like you, and I’m sorry for being so disrespectful.’  


You stare at him, completely dumbfounded. ‘What are you talking about, Karcat?’ you ask, ‘How were you disrespawctfurl? I should be the one apawlogizing fur kissing you in your sleep.’  


‘What? No,’ he replies, looking as surprised as you, ‘I’m the disrespectful fuckhead who grabbed your ass while you were drunk. My Dadi always said you never do anything like that if a girl’s drunk, cause she can’t properly consent when she’s drunk.’  


‘Karkat,’ you laugh, ‘I think there’s an exception fur when the girl is climbing on top of you and trying to make out with you. Not to mention the fact that you were the one saying we shouldn’t go further.’  


‘Still, I shouldn’t have done it,’ he insists, although he looks as relieved as you feel.  


‘So...’ you begin, looking down at your blankets. ‘Did you mean what you said? About wanting to stay? And about really liking me?’ As you finish, you look up at him, (perhaps a bit unfairly) giving him your sad kitty eyes.  


‘Of course I meant it, you dumb cat,’ he answers, kissing you on the forehead. ‘But I also meant what I said about not staying if I can’t pay. I refuse to take advantage of your kindness.’  


‘Oh, shoosh, Karcat!’ you admonish, ‘You’ll get a job befur long. I’ll take you into town tomeowrrow to look around. Just relax fur meow!’  


‘Fine,’ he concedes. ‘But speaking of jobs, you should probably rest for today. You can’t exactly go to work tonight in this state. I’ll get you some more water.’  


As he leaves the room, you dig in to your sandwiches, and they are some of the best things you have ever tasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think I'm gonna say this is technically the last chapter, but I'm gonna put in an epilogue. And there'll also probably be a follow-up fic in the future with more of the characters instead of just Karkat and Nepeta, so watch out for that.


	9. Epilogue

You lean into Karkat’s shoulder, looking up at him and sighing. You could hardly believe things had worked out so well. Just under two weeks ago, you had been living alone, with no romantic prospects whatsoever, and Karkat had been a drifter with no prospects of any sort. But now, just look at you. Cuddled up on your couch, sipping eggnog and sharing cookies on Christmas evening like you’d been together for years.  


It had been a very pleasant Christmas. You had gotten Karkat an ugly olive-green sweater with cats on it and a scarf to match (which he was currently begrudgingly wearing), and although he couldn’t afford anything for you, he promised that as soon as he had some money, he’d lavish you with gifts (which you insisted was completely unnecessary). Indeed, that day would probably be quite soon. Not only were you celebrating the holiday, but also Karkat’s new (and first) job. He had managed to get himself hired at a dive bar down the road from your diner, wiping down tables and playing his harmonica in accompaniment to the guitar player they already had, a twenty-something year old burnout from a rich family named Gamzee. Sure, the pay wasn’t great, but he could make it up in tips if he did well, and the one business that will always be steady in a recession is a bar.  


You recall that Gamzee went to your high school, although you don’t know much else about him. He seemed to be one of those kids who everyone knew but nobody was friends with. Sure, he went to all the parties, and he always had weed and booze, but if you asked anyone when his birthday was, or where he lived, or hell, even his last name, they probably couldn’t tell you. According to Karkat, he was still a complete stoner, and a clownish asshole, and an annoyingly happy cock goblin, and many, many more (unnecessarily mean, you thought) things, but you could tell he didn’t dislike him that much. You hoped that Karkat could make friends with him. The more reasons he had to stay, the better.  


Of course, that wasn’t to say you didn’t trust that he wouldn’t run away and leave you. It was just a little hard to believe that a man who had originally just been drifting through town on his way to warmer climes and decided to stop in your diner to avoid freezing to death had decided to permanently stay just on account of you, and any extra thing to cement him here would help to put your mind at ease a bit.  


You suppose you must have spaced out staring at him, because when you return from your little trip into your thoughts, Karkat is staring back at you and opening his mouth to speak.  


‘Why the fuck are you staring at me?’ he asks, ‘Do I have something on my face or something?’  


‘Hee hee, no, silly,’ you chuckle, butting your head against him, ‘I was just thinking about stuff.’  


‘Stuff?’ he asks nervously, ‘What stuff?’  


‘Hee hee, wouldn’t you like to know!’ you tease, turning your head up to give him a kiss on the neck.  


‘Fuck, fine, be that way. You’re probably just thinking of cats or some shit.’  


‘Hee hee, you know me so well,’ you reply, nuzzling your head into his chest. And you can’t help but think. Although this is your first Christmas without your family, you didn’t miss them as much as you expected. You do wish they were with you, of course, but you’re quite content to just be with Karkat. In fact, the loneliness that has haunted your life ever since you moved out of your parents’ house seems to have dulled ever since Karkat moved in. And today, for the first time since you moved in to this apartment, it truly feels like a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well everyone, it's been fun. We've had a good run, but now it's done. But never fear, a sequel will soon be here.


End file.
